


No One Loves The Birds That Don't Rise

by saintlysage



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Harry Potter, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Gay Draco Malfoy, Harry and Draco back at Hogwarts together, M/M, Multi, Professor Draco Malfoy, Professor Harry Potter, Reconciliation, Redemption, but hes gotta work for it, draco redemption, she will be respected, we love Ginny Weasley in this house
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:00:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26474551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintlysage/pseuds/saintlysage
Summary: Stolen kisses, whispered apologies, terrifying honesty...what does forgiveness really look like?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley, Seamus Finnigan/Dean Thomas
Comments: 16
Kudos: 33





	No One Loves The Birds That Don't Rise

**Author's Note:**

> The post war gang is in their 20s for this one. No kids yet, ignoring the epilogue.  
> My thought process for this fic was-post war emotional trauma, Draco putting in the work to be held accountable for his past actions, Harry getting to be the professor we deserved, contemplating what accountability means, and also professorial makeout scenes. I really want to use this as a way to articulate my thoughts on Draco as a character without excusing his racism and violence, and the trauma he has inflicted on others. That said I hope y'all enjoy it <3

_“I don't know how you do it,”_ Ron had said to him, last year, _“How you can go back there, I mean.”_

Harry knew what Ron meant, of course he did. Their school, and more than that, their home had become a battleground, a graveyard. He'd lost a brother there in those halls. 

Sometimes when Harry walked around the castle he wondered a little bit at how much blood the stones had eaten away. 

_“Probably not that much, ''_ Hermione said to him when he confided in her over lunch one day, _“Wizards are quiet killers.”_

 _“You still have to cast the spell!”_ He’d argued.

_“Honestly you're a grown man Harry, and you’ve got power to spare. Learn to cast silently.”_

He had, actually, but he hated giving her the satisfaction of being right, since she got to enjoy that feeling all too often.

Plus it's not something he used a lot. Maybe it was being raised by muggles that made casting spells feel special, but there was just something about calling to magic and having it answer you back. 

He twirled his wand in lazy circles, and a collection of textbooks followed the motion floating overhead. They were extras he kept on hand, everything from first year curriculum on up. 

How did he stand it? The truth was some days he couldn't.

Ron hadn't stepped foot in Hogwarts since the war; and because he and Hermione tumbled quite forcefully into a mad sort of affection he'd gotten a place in Hogsmead while she finished up her last year. He could walk the grounds with her, but the threshold was more than he could stand. Harry had always expected Hermione to hound him about going back, but to his knowledge she never said a word about it. 

The thing was, Harry thought, Ron was never one to pick at his wounds whereas Harry had a compulsive need to. Where was he bleeding? What did the job?

It was a bunch of small things. Certain staircases. The astronomy tower. The dungeons at certain hours of the day. 

And there would always be the ghosts. Whenever he saw one out of the corner of his eye he would snap to attention, hoping he wouldn't see a familiar face.

George had cornered him at the Christmas party last year, looking preoccupied and sick.

_"You haven't seen him have you?"_

_"No. No, I would have told you."_

Molly found them the next morning passed out in the yard getting kicked by gnomes and Harry could no longer smell firewhiskey without gagging. 

He sighed and flicked his wand, and all the books flew into the open glass front cabinet behind his desk, lining themselves rather neatly if he said so himself. He expected these things when Mcgonagall came barging into his flat last year, after his incident at the Ministry, telling him in no uncertain terms that she needed a Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher, and he was just the person she needed.

 _“Aren’t I a bit young?”_ He’d protested.

_“And grossly overqualified, I think.”_

That last part wasn’t strictly true, there were huge gaps in his basic knowledge, that he worked double time to fill, by shadowing McGonagall and keeping Hermione up late into the night tutoring him. Ron had some rather snide things to say about Harry occupying his wife but kept his mouth shut after she threatened to hex his nose off. At the end of summer break his curriculum was deemed up to snuff and he was one Hogwarts’ youngest professors at 22. He had students, and a classroom and even a desk, which he looked at now with a degree of fondness that Ron would incessantly make fun of him for. 

The desk in question-some ancient antique with all sorts of tooling, and now coffee stains- sat at the head of a little alcove where he kept his book cabinet, a running board that held everything he needed for coffee and tea, and a few plants Neville insisted he keep there "for a bit of cheer". Neville was one unexpected good thing about coming back to hogwarts, he Harry, and Oliver Wood were the three of the post-war set to come back to hogwarts, Neville took over Herbology, and Oliver was offered Madam Hooch’s role (she had packed up and moved to the French countryside with her wife Matilda, declaring she was going to master the art of making soap from goat milk), both of them before Harry. It was certainly unconventional to have such young teachers, but an enormous gap had to be filled, because the post war ministry was the place to be if you wanted a name for yourself, and no one seemed terribly willing to give that up in favor of wandering a cursed old castle full of children. Not to mention many of the older staff members took the Battle of Hogwarts as a very convincing reason to retire. The shape of the school changed very quickly in a very short amount of time. 

He looked around the room, admiring the old stone, and the enormous windows. No matter who walked its halls, some things in Hogwarts never changed. His classroom was on the east side of the castle on the third floor, so he and the plants enjoyed plenty of natural light for most of the day. His classroom was awash in mellow golden light, and the castle was quiet and empty, it was something very close to idyllic. He loved these quiet days, even though he knew they couldn’t last. Or maybe because of that. 

Harry sighed, and sat at his desk, but he couldn't focus. He had lesson plans for the fourth years to do, and he needed to talk to Hagrid about getting some sprites that the first years could observe and chart anatomy on (sprites were humanoid enough but were devoid of genitalia because Harry was not getting paid enough to have that conversation with a pack of eleven year olds), but his head was too full. He was anxious about this year, there was always a certain rhythm to a year at Hogwarts when you weren’t fighting for your life or on the run from the government, and it was jarring to have that back after so long. 

There were people he could turn to for advice, but the people he really wanted to talk to weren’t there. He always thought of Remus and Sirius at times like this. They were as inexplicably linked to the school as he was, and he would have loved to pick their brains about how Hogwarts used to be. Maybe they could have helped him get his footing. 

He tossed down his quill and raked a hand through his hair. One day, he thought. One day those thoughts wouldn’t sneak up on him and eviscerate him. It was unpacking day, that had to be it. Unpacking always made him introspective...which was just a hop and a skip over from morose even on a good day. 

He was not sure how long he’d been sitting there, or if he’d been dozing off, but a knock startled him awake, and if that wasn’t frightening enough, there was Draco Malfoy leaned up against the doorway of his classroom. He looked good, he was taller, filled out in the shoulders, less hungry looking. His clothing was impeccable, he wore a suit that was seven different shades of black, and even his hair was dead stylish, shaved close on the sides with the top long enough to sweep backwards. The contrast was stark between the silvery hair, pale skin, gray eyes, and the suit but he made it work for him, as was his wont. 

He was a magazine photograph in black and white, meanwhile Harry was doing a very quick assessment of possible holes in the sweater he was wearing. It may have been summer, but the castle was always chilly.

“Draco.” He said, feeling stupid. The other man strode into the classroom slowly, looking around while Harry hastily stood up. 

“Relax, Potter.” Draco said mildly. “I just wanted to drop in and say hello while I’m here.”

“Hello?” He echoed, and a smile tugged at the corners of Draco’s mouth. 

“Yes. I was here to see McGonagall.

“Ah. Tea?” Harry asked, completely at a loss. Draco approached his desk and looked at him, a small crease between his brows. 

“Sure, that would be lovely.”

Harry slipped his wand from his belt loops and with one flick had a chair pulled up, and another had the teapot full, water warming. “How do you take it?” he asked. 

“Black is fine.”

Harry busied himself preparing the cups and a tray of cranberry biscuits, and was very glad he didn’t spill anything as he set everything down on the desk. He sat back down and poured milk and honey into his tea before glancing nervously at Draco. He wasn’t sure where to look exactly. His expensive clothes? His hands, curled appreciatively around his tea? Or his face? Fine boned, aristocratic, handsome. Mostly the same as Harry remembered him when they ran into each other at the ministry last year, and then again this January. 

They were cordial, there was no sneering or antagonism, but both times stuck with Harry like a thorn in his palm. Not terribly annoying unless he brushed up against the memories the wrong way. They just had the feeling of leaving things unsaid, and there was plenty to say. But the Ministry-full to bursting with reporters and eavesdroppers- didn’t seem the place. Draco had certainly had his part on the wrong side of the war, but Harry had had plenty of time to think about that. Mostly when his nightmares kept him up at night and he rambled from one end of Grimmauld Place to the other. What else was there to think about in that house besides the war? 

Draco had been awful all through school. Violent, scheming, hateful. But 6th year...and who had ever been around to teach him differently? The real question was had he learned on his own. Was he different now? He seemed it. There was no way 16 year old Draco Malfoy would have dropped in acting as cordial as he was now. And, Harry supposed as he washed down the lump in his throat with his honey laced tea, his 16 year old self had no small part in that. 

At the end of the day seeming was just seeming. And Harry was far from the only person Draco had harmed. Hermione sprang into his mind and his nose prickled. Would he be so polite with her? Would she let him without cursing him into the dirt? 

_Would she forgive me for having tea with him?_

Draco had saved his life, the very least Harry owed him was a chat over tea. Anything more than that remained to be seen.

“How-”

“My father was an awful man.” Draco winced as he interrupted him. 

“Er..” Harry said, wondering if he ought to just jump out the window to save himself further embarrassment. 

Draco pressed on, staring into the cup in his hands like he was trying to read the dregs before he’d even finished. “He was awful, he taught me to be awful. I have a lot to answer for, there’s no denying that.” He glanced up and Harry was struck by the color of his eyes. Had he ever really seen them before? They were silver ringed in charcoal and he was reminded of the sensation of falling into a bowl of Pensieve. Where was all this coming from? What was he doing here? Why now?

“I don’t expect you-or anyone to forgive me really. And that’s not...that’s not why i’m saying these things. It’s just. I know. And I’m trying. Have been trying. To be better. Do better. I don’t know quite what that means but I am trying to figure it out.” 

Harry sat there stunned as Draco set his cup down on the saucer, turning the handle just so before standing up. “I’ll see myself out. Thank you. For the cuppa.”

He inclined his head and turned on his heel but Harry was up and out of his chair, and stumbling around to the front of the desk. He knocked his hip on the corner, and caught Draco by the sleeve. _That’ll wrinkle. Hope I don’t have to pay for his dry cleaning._

Draco looked at him in surprise and Harry let go, straightening with as much dignity as he could muster. “Whatever it’s worth, Draco,” He said, his late night thoughts searing their way out of his mouth, between his teeth. “I’m sorry too. I don’t know what I could have done differently. But it feels like. Well. At the very least I’m sorry for 6th year. I never meant to hurt you like that.”

There were times here in the highlands where the weather changed in a split second. Sunshine one minute, black clouds and the smell of ozone the next. This was not unlike that. There was just a shift, a giving way, a turn in the air-Draco’s eyes softened, his breathing changed, and suddenly he was leaning in, his mouth brushing over the corner of Harry’s. 

He froze, and pulled back, startled. “I-I’m so sorry, I-”

Harry did not wait to hear what he was sorry about. There was no rhyme or reason to the heat that burst to life in his chest at that moment, or how he suddenly, out of a clear blue sky, wanted Draco closer, wanted him near enough to smell the tea on his breath. It was like he’d stumbled over a tripwire, and now there was fire everywhere, and the only way out was through dragging each other closer. 

Harry knotted his hand around Draco’s tie-the one that probably cost about the same as a new broom- and pulled him in, crushing them both, chest to chest, hips together, mouths together. His free hand tangled itself in Draco’s hair, and then Draco was kissing him back, and Harry’s brain was very quickly gone in a haze of teeth scraping his bottom lip, tongues sliding together, breathing going all ragged. 

Draco moaned and pushed him back against his desk, and Harry very nearly blacked out as Draco slid one hand into his hair, closed it, and tugged his head back, kissing Harry’s neck while his other hand pressed up the front of his jeans. They both made desperate sounds as Draco’s palm pressed into the very apparent erection suddenly straining against denim, and Harry was lost, lost, lost until the sound of shattering china broke through the silence like a crack of lightning. 

Draco froze, his teeth grazing the place where Harry’s neck met his shoulder, then he was gone. Harry watched blearily as Draco, face flushed, straightened his tie and fled the classroom, leaving Harry aching in at least three different places, sitting on his desk. 

He had no time to process anything that just happened, however, because none other than Minerva McGonagall herself swept into his classroom next and Harry had to throw himself off his desk and busy himself with cleaning the broken china on the floor with such speed it was a miracle he did not concuss himself on the flagstone floor. He would have preferred that to McGonagall having any sort of inkling as to what just happened.

“I hope you weren’t throwing teacups at Mr. Malfoy.” She said darkly, as he piled the damo, broken china on his desk. 

“Not at all, I’m just a clumsy git. Er. Headmistress.” He coughed and she rolled her eyes before pulling her wand out of her sleeve and giving it a flourish. The pieces of the teacup and saucer, flew back together, and Harry had to move his hand to avoid a shard he missed flying up off the floor.

“Honestly, Mr. Potter someone would think you’d forgotten you’re a wizard.” She said, quirking an eyebrow at him. 

He laughed weakly. “Old habits, I suppose.” 

“I hope those old habits don’t include your rivalry with Mr. Malfoy. I’ve had a rather hasty change in staffing, and when I reached out to him he agreed to be our new ancient runes professor, so you two will be colleagues. I apologize for not saying something sooner, but-” She eyed the second tea cup and the tray of biscuits, “It seems his saying hello to you went rather well?” 

“Yes, yes. He was very polite.” He almost choked on the word. He’d survived the most powerful dark wizard ever, but this would be the thing to kill him, he just knew it. 

McGonagall snorted. “Which is to say nothing of yourself. I hope you’ll behave yourself and welcome Mr. Malfoy as much as possible. Your example will set the tone for his time here, not too many are terribly enthused by the prospect of him working in the castle.”

His example? If Neville took to snogging Malfoy he would probably be joining Nearly Headless Nick in the afterlife. “Right, of course.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck. 

The Headmistress sighed. “I know he has a rather nasty history, but...I guess I’m hoping that by giving him a chance here, I’ll be making some small difference.”

“Second chances?”

She looked at him, very keenly. “I will be quite frank, I’m not certain anyone has ever given that young man any chance at all. Now.” She clapped her hands together. “I expect your lesson plans on my desk before the start of term. You have a few weeks yet, I suggest you use them wisely. Good afternoon, Mr. Potter.” 

She swept out of the room just as quickly as she’d come and Harry slumped into the chair he’d pulled up for Draco. His hands shook, and his chest felt too small to contain the frantic rhythm of his heart. 

He’d just kissed Draco Malfoy. There were so many implications there, moral and otherwise his head spun, but the worst, by far, was the fact that he had to go home tonight. He had to exit the grounds, walk far enough to Apparate back to Grimmauld Place and step inside, and this normally wasn’t such an ordeal, but tonight it was, because he’d kissed Draco, Draco had kissed him back, and Ginny would be waiting up for him.

**Author's Note:**

> Please trust that Harry is no cheater, and that I have a plan on how this situation will be handled by all involved ty ty


End file.
